


Barbershop Banter

by May_Belle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Failwolf, Laura is mean, M/M, Stiles is a barber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Belle/pseuds/May_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good one, Erica, but this guy doesn't need a barber. He needs a casting call and a better agent if they put him up to this. I don't know how much Erica's paying you but with a face like yours it isn't enough to have to go through with this, no matter how rough times are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barbershop Banter

Derek would like to think he's unaffected by Laura. Specifically, by the things she says. He'd like to think that when Laura makes off-handed (and rude) comments about, say, his tendency to mumble or his stubbornness or his inability to attract and subsequently date women who  _aren't_  crazy or his total and complete detachment from all things current pop culture, he's comfortable and secure enough with himself and who he is as a unique individual to not even be minimally affected by her. He'd like to think she has no influence on his actions, mainly because he's always able to walk away from their confrontations with only a few bruises and feelings of relative indifference over the fact that Laura thinks he's a loser because he didn't know Kim Kardashian was now married to Kanye West and that they had a kid together because for one, Laura thinks everyone is a loser, two, Derek has better, more important things to do with his time than keep up with the Kardashians and three, North West wasn't the most believable name for an actual human child.

But then days will come when Derek finds himself making a conscious effort to "speak up or not speak at all" (to quote Laura) when he feels the urge mumble, or switching the television channel to ETV or MTV for the latest celebrity news even though he absolutely hates hearing about their non-problems and all the money they're throwing away buying stupid things like sixty-thousand dollar leggings.

He even joined twitter.

He realizes at those moments that Laura must have somehow mastered the art of mind control most likely via subliminal messages hidden in the alphabet soup she always insists he eats with Mason and Hannah under the guise that "they won't eat it unless their Uncle Derek does too". Something about giving them the visual that eating well will make them big and strong by having the biggest, strongest person they know eat it along with them. It's a genius tactic now that Derek lets himself really think about it. Mason had even pointed out once with a scowl on his little face that his soup spelled out "broccoli". It had been at a time when Laura would have to sit for hours with him after lunch officially ended trying to get him to eat at least one floret of the disgusting vegetable. Of course when Derek checked it, it hadn't actually spelled out broccoli. The kid is five, there wasn't even a "B" nearby, but Derek's point still stands.

If not mind control, he suspects too that it may be as a result of an innate, subconscious desire of his wolf to obey it's alpha. If that is the case, it's a bit unfortunate that his wolf can't make the important distinction between 'obeying his alpha' and 'becoming his alpha's male equivalent'.

...

Today is no different.

A week ago Laura called him a Sasquatch. She had just finished packing the children their lunches, grabbed up their kits to go get them from where they were waiting in the living room and as she passed him where he sat at the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, she'd pulled on a hair of his beard, slapped him against the cheek and with a resolute expression and a grin, called him a Sasquatch.

On Monday, while she was putting those uneven pigtails in Hannah's hair like she does, Laura had turned the comb on him and tried to run it through his beard. The struggle that followed did not end well. For Derek.

Just yesterday while reading to Mason, Laura pointed to the illustration of one of the Wild Things and said "This is your uncle Derek." Mason proceeded furrow his brow in confusion, as he always did when Laura found  _yet another_  character in one of the kids' books that was his uncle Derek. Laura was gonna give this kid a complex.

And sure enough today Derek has found himself standing outside a barbershop/salon called "Prime Cuts." He'd like to say that he'd picked the place because of something other than the fact that the name is connotative of his favorite meal at his favorite Barbecue and Grill joint. But he didn't.

When he walks in at ten am, there's only one other customer. She's on the salon side of the establishment which is marked off only by the clear contrast between the aqua painted left side of the room, where three rotatable, black, leather barber's stations sit each in front of a small, clean, rectangular mirror which hangs above the cutting/shaving/sanitizing equipment and the lilac painted right side of the room with shelves upon shelves of styling products, hair cutting/drying/curling/straightening equipment, dyes upon dyes upon dyes, with five salon chairs, five drying stations and it's left wall and entire ceiling a large mirror.

The single customer, a little old lady with silver locks is smiling at him and as Derek ventures further into the room he thinks that she either just arrived or the blonde bombshell standing over her, hands submerged in the unnaturally healthy head of hair for a woman pushing at least eighty, is terrible at her job. Derek isn't sure. He's not very familiar with hair care and beauty establishments. All he knows is that Laura spends a lot of money when she goes to one, returns with hairstyles he's seen her achieve before on her own in the bathroom mirror or with an almost unnoticeable change feeling one hundred percent better than she did when she left. At least until she asks Derek if he's "noticed anything different" about her and he fails to recognize that she added a few more streaks of light brown highlights in her hair. And usually Derek just shaves and/or trims his own hair/beard. That's probably why he when he asks Blondie, "Are you the barber too?", she smirks at him and little old lady looks amused beneath the waterfall of hair blocking her face. Derek tries his best not to feel like a 'fail-wolf' (yet another term Laura's mind control has injected into his subconscious vocabulary).

"No, I'm not the barber," She explains nicely enough, then she nods, still smiling at him as she untangles long red-painted fingernails from her customer's hair. "I'll get the barber for you." She moves away from her work station to stand near a door that Derek suspects leads to an employee lounge area. She puts a hand on her hip and the other cups her mouth. She shouts, "Stiles, put the Cheetos down and get off your fat ass. You have a customer."

She turns back to him then. "He'll be right out," she says in a saccharine sweet tone that makes Derek frown. The girl only smirks brighter, then returns to her customer.

A few moments later the door opens and the man that emerges is sucking enthusiastically at an orange, cheese stained thumb. There are even a few salty crumbs around his full pink lips and Derek watches him lick them off (it should be disgusting except it really,  _really_  isn't) as he surveys his work station, where Derek is now standing.

The man spots him then laughs loudly and suddenly, the sound startling Derek, so too the wide expanse of milky, pale skin of his neck that is exposed as he throws his head back, mouth wide open, eyes shut tight.

After a few seconds of staring unattractively, Derek actually manages to remember why he's there, even with a guy who seems to be the very definition of Derek's type standing in front of him and casts a glance to Blondie. The look on her face is just as confused as her customer's but -anticipatory as well. Like she's watching a new episode of a familiar TV-show and while she isn't quite sure what's about to happen, previous experience makes her certain it'll be entertaining either way.

A loud 'smack' draws his attention back to Stiles who'd just slapped his goddamned knee in amusement like some sort of cartoon character.

Stiles wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes as his laughter subsides then waves a hand in Blondie's general direction.

"Good one, Erica, but this guy doesn't need a barber. He needs a casting call and a better agent if they put him up to this. I don't know how much Erica's paying you but with a face like yours it isn't enough to have to go through with this, no matter how rough times are."

"Stiles, he's not-" Erica tries immediately, but Stiles cuts her off with a groan.

"Oh come on Erica, cut the act. There's no way this guy isn't some sort of underwear model. He's front page material. I'm willing to bet he's literally the hottest person who'll ever come through those doors." Stiles then proceeds to two finger salute him. "If it's any consolation, dude, I think they're all crazy for not hiring you. I bet you look great in underwear." Then Stiles turns on his heels and struts back in the direction he came.

The door shuts behind him and Erica doesn't say a word. Shocked silent probably. Her customer, however, is clearly struggling to hold in her laughter. Derek.. Well Derek isn't quite sure what just happened. Their silence persists for a few more moments before Erica and little old lady burst out in laughter. It's eerily synchronized too.

Little old lady is definitely a regular.

Erica is doubled over, near hysterical and Derek picks up the words "dumbass", "so embarrassing", "gotta tell Boyd" and "Scott is going to die" among her fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Once the laughter subsides, long after is good customer service compliant, Erica pats little old lady lightly on the head before heading to the back room to which Stiles had retreated.

"Please excuse him," she says as she goes, "He's an idiot."

The door closes behind her and Derek frowns again.

"I don't know what you're frowning at," little old lady says to him suddenly, breaking his concentration away from where he was trying to listen in on Erica and Stiles' conversation one room over. Deciding it probably looks a little odd how intently he's concentrating on a shut door, he gives little old lady his attention. She smirks at him and it's so reminiscent of Erica that Derek feels compelled to ask if they're related. "If Stiles called me a model and the hottest person that'll ever walk through those door, I'd be soiling my panties."

Suddenly all Derek can think about is granny panties and he thinks it's a good thing he was already frowning. At least little old lady won't feel offended that he's practically throwing up in his mouth.

Turning his attention back on less gross things, he can hear Erica through the door clearly. She's struggling for breath, laughing all the while as she says "-you dumbass."

He hears Stiles squeak in response. "Oh my God. Oh my God." There's the sound of shuffling feet. "God, he probably left already. I would leave. I've already kept him waiting so long. Oh God, Erica, you just left him out there with Mabel."

As Stiles says it, little old lady, Mabel, whistles his attention back to her again before asking, "So, what are you packing under that shirt, Mr Handsome-" and thankfully Stiles chooses that moment to burst through the door, Erica in his wake.

His face is scrunched up in a wince, no doubt having heard Mabel's come-on. He looks rapidly between them, until Erica shoves him forward onto the barber's side of the room so now there's only a few feet of distance between himself and Stiles.

"I'm so sorry about her," he apologizes on Mabel's behalf once he regains his footing. "She's not house-trained."

Derek vaguely hears Mabel whisper "Dumbass," but then Stiles is stepping closer and Derek can't concentrate on anything but Stiles' scent, slowly surrounding him. It's intoxicating, even amidst the almost unbearable smell of hair product and chemicals. He holds his hand out and Derek accepts it immediately.

"I'm Stiles, I'll be your barber for today and I'm totally sorry about before," Stiles says quickly, pulling his hand away just as quickly and hurriedly grabbing up his tools and setting up his work station. "You can sit," Stiles instructs before speed-walking to the other side of the room for what looks like towels and neck strips. He observes Stiles' frantic, anxious movements, can smell the faint wafts of embarrassment rolling off him, and hears him muttering self-berating comments, his face closing in more and more by the second, looking almost the exact opposite of the laughing, thoroughly amused man from before and suddenly all Derek wants to do is make him smile like that again.

Stiles hurries back over to him, slipping the jacket over Derek head, still spewing unnecessary apologies and Derek can't help it when he lightly takes Stiles' forearm in his hand. All Stiles' movement ceases and his eyes lock on the spot where Derek is holding him, then Stiles meets his eyes, looking down at him, confused.

Derek releases him slowly, now that he has the man's attention. "I accept your apology and I promise I'm not judging you or thinking any less of you because of earlier. It was a mistake, it's forgotten and I'm sure we can get past it." Derek smiles at him and he can see when the tension leaves Stiles' body. He slumps forward, smiling on a relieved sigh, then he nods.

"Okay," Stiles answers. "Yeah, okay, um-"

"Derek."

"Derek. Right," he laughs then, seemingly back to himself already. "Well Derek, I hope I can make a regular customer out of you yet."

"Doubt it," Erica sing songs from across the room. Stiles flips her off.

"Don't listen to her. I'm amazing," Stiles says and Derek thinks,  _yes you are_. Stiles claps his hands together. "So Derek, what would you have me do to your.." His palms windmill around in front of Derek's eyes in what Derek assumes is an all encompassing gesture for Derek's face region.

 _Sit on it_ , comes to mind, but he bites his tongue. Says, "Just a trim," instead.

Stiles smiles at him, "Something tells me you don't do this often."

"I usually just do it on my own at home," Derek answers honestly.

Stiles nods, picks up the neck strips, "Well if you would grant me artistic licence, I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Go nuts," Derek tells him, stomach doing flips when Stiles grins at him in response.

At light tap on his chin tells him he needs to tip his head back a little, give Stiles access to his neck and it's testament to this odd but already comfortable attraction he has to Stiles that he bares his neck with little resistance.

"Ticklish?" Stiles questions with a smirk when Derek flinches as Stiles gets the strip around his neck, his long fingers trailing in its wake.

"Something like that," Derek answers, enjoying the feeling of Stiles' hand moving across his face. He thinks he's lucky to have found someone like Stiles his first time at an honest to God barbershop because he doubts he'd let just anyone touch him the way Stiles is. He shudders to think about what he might have done if someone who his wolf hadn't immediately taken to tried to touch his neck.

He alternates between watching Stiles' hands in the reflection of the mirror and observing Stiles as he works. His brows are lowered in concentration and he bites his tongue ever so often, a nervous tic or concentration tactic probably. Derek finds it attractive either way. He watches the slight upturn of Stiles' nose, the way strands of his hair fall onto his forehead, the dusting of moles on his cheeks, his long, dark eyelashes and extensively, his gorgeous eyes. They're a striking hazel brown and he finds that he can't look away. Stiles could be shaving him bald and he wouldn't have a clue.

For his own sake, he spares a glance at the mirror just to make sure he isn't in fact being shaved clean. His face is nearing completion, beard cut to a prominent stubble and shaped to "accentuate his bone structure" as Laura would say. Satisfied that his head isn't being severed, he turns his attention back to Stiles' bright eyes that are staring right at him.

Stiles' hands still and his mouth is parted, face so close to Derek's, but just out of the range where it would be acceptable to just claim his pretty lips. Stiles smiles slyly like he can tell what Derek is thinking, but Derek doesn't miss the way his eyes are gazing into Derek's, roaming around his face, only to return Derek's heated gaze.

"Surveying your art?" Derek asks, when the tension gets to be too much, when he feels like if he doesn't break the moment soon, he'll end up mounting Stiles on the work station in front of Mabel and Erica. Both of whom he doubts would mind very much at all.

Stiles nods, slowly emerging from his trance. "Something like that," he whispers, breath cascading against Derek's face. He gets back to work after that and Derek is glad for it because the sooner Stiles finishes, the sooner he can ask him out to dinner. 

As a distraction mechanism, to keep from lunging for Stiles' face, Derek finds himself mapping out his face with his hands, feeling Stiles' workmanship under his fingertips.

"You like it?" Stiles asks from above him, snipping another bit of his hair off.

Derek nods, honestly impressed, "It's nice. Nicer than I've ever done it."

Stiles breathes out a laugh. "I happen to know that  _that_  is the perfect length for stubble burn."

Heat coils in Derek's stomach.

"Oh, really?" he smirks. In the mirror Derek can see that Stiles is smiling as well, though his eyes don't move from where they're fixed on Derek's hair. "Most people don't appreciate stubble burn."

Stiles shrugs, "Some people do. Some people even like it." And it's said in such a way that Derek can read that between the lines he's actually saying,  _I do, I like it._ "I've been told I have the perfect skin for it," Stiles whispers and Derek feels the growl start deep in his chest.

Suddenly though, the jacket is being whipped off him, the neck strip disposed of and his neck and face brushed off. He looks in the mirror, surprised and a bit disappointed to see that Stiles is finished with him. He stands, trying to keep the frown off his face as Stiles crosses the room to return the strips and jacket to it's storage place, and pulls his wallet from his pocket, contemplating how best to ask Stiles out now that the moment seems to have passed and Stiles has dismissed him.

When he looks up from his wallet, Stiles is waving goodbye to Mabel before passing Erica where she's clearing her own workstation and walking back towards him. Stiles comes to stand right in front of him.

"How much is it?" Derek asks, and after a quick glance to where Erica is busy at work, Stiles' hand rests against his cheek, thumb caressing Derek's jaw and Derek immediately melts into the touch.

"Oh no, seems I missed a little part," Stiles says sounding anything but apologetic. He has a smile on his face as he takes a step close, soundly in Derek's personal bubble now. "You probably don't see it, but I promise it's there." He takes another step forward. Their chests are pressed together. "I guess you'll just have to come back." Stiles' free hand lightly shoves away the bills Derek is offering him. "Preferably after lunch. Erica only works mornings so hopefully without her distracting me, I'll be much more focused." Stiles speaks the last word practically against Derek's lips, leaving them tingling in anticipation before he steps away completely.

He smiles slyly, coy, "Come back in an hour?" he asks. "Promise I'll be more alert and energized for this afternoon's proceedings."

Derek nods, dazed, presses a touch to Stiles' hip and turns away, walking towards the exit. He's just stepped over the barrier of the front door when Stiles catches him by the arm. He looks nervous.

"You do know I'm not actually talking about cutting your hair, right?" Stiles asks, "Like, you got that, right?"

Derek kisses his nerves away.

**Author's Note:**

> My brother got married last Saturday and for lack of a better place to be (because I truly have no life, what engineering major does?) I was forced to watch him and all the groomsmen get their hair done. In my opinion, the barber was very touchy feely with the guys and with Mr H, the barber, as my inspiration, this fic was born...


End file.
